


Doctor Who - Colepaldi RPF -- The Weekend - Saturday

by Colepaldi-in-the-Tardis (Samstown4077)



Series: Colepaldi Collection [59]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who RPF
Genre: A series in a series, Angst, Colepaldi, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Get handkerchiefs ready, Humour, Hurt, Kissing, Part II, Romance, Suppressed Feelings, THIS IS FICTION!, Too many people told me they have cried, but happens in part III, passionate kissing, real person fiction - Freeform, this is the end of the colepaldi collection, tieing lose ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6219790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Colepaldi-in-the-Tardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Peter's last weekend in Cardiff before he moves back to London, after he has regenerated as the Doctor. Jenna, who has come back for his last episode, wants to help him pack his stuff. This leads to them, spending this last weekend together. (Last) Part of the Colepaldi Collection and also of the Series "The Weekend" that tells those last three days in three last stories. You'll read Saturday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor Who - Colepaldi RPF -- The Weekend - Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two - Saturday - of a special Colepaldi project, called ["The Weekend"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/421678). Please consider to read Part I [(Friday)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6219767) first! 
> 
> Please check tags!

 

In the morning, Jenna startled awake by the sound of a door closing, and unsure where she was for a second. When her field of view had settled into normal, she found Peter standing by the door, holding a bag and two paper mugs in hand.

 

“Sorry,” he greeted her, moving to the kitchen. “I woke up and went downstairs to get us some breakfast and coffee. You seemed deep asleep, so I let you.”

 

Drowsy she reached for her phone, to check the time. It was already nine o’clock, a time she hadn’t slept till since a while. Not even on the weekends. Ruffling her hair, she groaned and fell back into the sheets.

A smiling Peter showed up with two bowls, placing one in front of her, and then he went to get the coffees, “Did you sleep well?”

 

Jenna mustered the bowl for a moment, “Yes, yes I did. What is this?”

 

“Porridge,” he held out a spoon to her, and after she had taken it from him, he shoved a spoon of his own Porridge into his mouth.

 

Jenna watched him half in disgust and half in confusion. "How Scottish," she croaked, reaching for the coffee to take a large gulp.

 

Chuckling he reached behind him, to the bag, and pulled out a banana placing it aside her, “Here, maybe you like that better. You can cut it into it, and then the porridge tastes really good, and you know, "he gave her a mischievous smoulder, "Bananas are good.”

 

Glaring at the banana in her hand, it made her smirk, before she peeled it and took a bite, “I am always grumpy before the caffeine hits my bloodstream.”

 

“I guessed that already,” he reached again into the bag, pulling out an apple, biting into it quickly.

 

Jenna eyed him once more, and then began to eat her breakfast slowly, and indeed, the porridge wasn’t that bad, it only tended to look a bit gross.

Sitting cross-legged, she watched Peter eat, and wondered when had been the last time someone had brought her breakfast to the bed. When she considered how busy she usually was and how packed her days were, knowing she seldom ate breakfast at home and mostly on the way, it must have been ages.

 

Unsure what to say, she kept silent, and Peter also not started any conversation, just sat there eating and drinking his coffee, glancing around in the room, probably making plans what to pack first and how.

 

Afterwards, Jenna went to the bathroom, taking a quick shower, getting dressed and ready for the day, and while Peter went to do his bathroom routine too, she made the bed and washed the empty bowls in the kitchen.

Carefully she dried them with the same towel she had dried his hands the day before, and for a moment, she saw herself again. Going on her tip-toes, giving him a peck. Shaking herself out of the thought, she placed the towel away and turned around to find Peter standing in the doorframe of the kitchen, looking at her, and she wasn’t aware that her eyes went bigger as usual till he asked her, “What?”

 

“Uhm,” she wavered nervously with her hand around. He hadn’t shaved and somehow she had expected he would do it right away in the morning. “Your beard. It’s still there.”

 

Reflexed his hand came up, brushing through the thick hair on his face, “I was too lazy. Shaving it off is almost as torturous as to let it grow." Jenna gave him an acknowledging nod, not that she had any real clue about such thing.

 

They both smiled awkwardly, before Jenna pointed at the cupboards in the kitchen, “You want to start here or better go for the books? We can pack the dishes, just leave out what we need.”

 

“Yes, I have organized enough old newspapers to wrap the dishes. We also have to disassemble the shelves that stand in the old bedroom,” he explained. “You go for the kitchen and I for the books, would that be okay?”

 

“Sure,” she agreed, and so they went their ways.

 

Slowly, carefully but persistent they started to pack Peter’s stuff. It didn’t look much, but as it always was when someone moved, it turned out more as one could think off.

Jenna wrapped all breakable items carefully into the old newspaper Peter had given her before placing everything into the boxes. When she had finished one cupboard, she cleaned it out with a wet cloth, almost finding it meditative. Doing the random stuff, her hands busy and her head turned off -- that happened not often.

From time to time she heard Peter shove a box around or groan a bit, and she smirked, stopping for a moment, in case he needed help or medical attention, and then went on with her duties.

 

This went on for hours, only interrupted by using the bathroom or drinking something, or when Jenna went quickly to get two more coffees. Somewhere in the afternoon, she went to see what Peter had done in the morning, finding him sitting between half-filled boxes and many books.

The most was already packed, a lot of nick-nack she guessed, but there was still a lot of stuff laying around. At least, he had disassembled the shelves already, what the reason had been that she had heard him grumble and curse a while ago.

When he noticed her, he looked up, a couple of LPs in his lap, smiling at her. His hair was disheveled, and he looked exhausted, but happy, “Hey.”

 

“What are you doing?” she walked over and joined him by sitting beside him, reaching for one of the records.

 

“Just browsing,” he chuckled, holding up one of the LPs. "I needed a break."

 

Jenna gaped at him, finding him hold up his own LP, “You are kidding me!” it was a rare copy of his old band. The Dreamboys. She snatched the record from his hands. “After all this years! I never thought you show me this.”

 

He rolled his eyes, “Yes, I show you this, but we will not listen to it!”

 

“Oh, come on! That, you can’t do! Just one song, please!” she begged, having much fun seeing him get all embarrassed and regretting his actions.

 

“Later,” he gave in. “And just one song!” he rose a finger and Jenna pouted at him, but giggled happily, quickly placing the record aside, so she could make sure he wouldn’t pack it away, only to tell her later that they not could listen to it because of it.

 

“What else you got?” she leaned over, pulling one of the boxes over, starting to browse through the records. When she came to one particular, she drew it out, looking long at it. Her hand brushing gently over the cover. It was a David Bowie one. She sighed, “He died too young.”

 

“Yeah, he did,” Peter answered, remembering it had been a hard blow for him when he had heard about David Bowie’s death. The man had influenced him and many others so much, and the music of his had been an important part of his life. “I miss him.”

 

Jenna remembered when the news had come out. Remembered how sad it had made her, but she was probably a bit too young, to relate so much to Bowie's music, what was exceptional and she knew what he had done for the music itself, but it never really had been hers, “I know.”

 

For a few seconds, she observed him watch the cover, her hand reaching out to him, to touch him on his wrist. A comforting gesture and he acknowledged it with a pad on it, pressing her fingers for a bit before he shuffled over to the open box.

Reaching inside to take out a few other records, checking the back of each till he found he was looking for, “Wanna listen to one?”

 

“Absolutely,” she grinned and watched him stand up to reveal the record player that was hidden behind some boxes.

 

Plugging it in, he quickly got one of the speakers and connected the player with it, all under Jenna’s attentive eyes. Opening the lid of the record player, he got out the record itself, blowing over the surface once, and then placed the black round carefully onto the table.

Then he pushed a little lever, what made the turntable start to spin and then the tape head slowly set down on the record.

The familiar crackling came out of the speaker, and after a few seconds the first beats of “Beauty and the Beast” played.

 

Peter threw her a broad smile, proud of himself, that he had managed to get the technique working and after a few beats he started to move his head to the song closing his eyes, doing as if he was playing the guitar, “I always liked the guitar in that song.”

 

Jenna watched him laughing, how he stood there, almost proud, playing an imaginary guitar. She hadn't seen him play often. The last time back on the Doctor Who set. The day she had left the show.

 

Not in need to think about it now, she pushed it away and jumped instead to a more pleasant memory. Of Peter playing the guitar on that tank, when they had filmed “The Magician’s Apprentice”. It had been epic and until this day, she sometimes watched the scene on youtube, just having fun seeing Peter rock as the Doctor. The best of times.

 

“You are a nerd,” she stood up, feeling her stomach crave for something to eat. “We should get something to eat.”

 

Peter turned toward her, playing the air guitar, slightly swaying, “One more song!"

 

Jenna smirked. She knew she had no chance, and she had fun seeing him like this, "Okay, but only when we can dance to it.”

 

“Ah!” he let go of his guitar and reached for the cover again. “I think I can arrange that.” Leaning down, he moved the tape head a bit further, putting it at the end of the song and then they both waited till the next one started.

 

It was no surprise to her what song came up next. What other it could be as "Heroes" and Peter gave her a grin, one where he revealed all of his gums and the tiny gap between his two front teeth.

 

Starting to move his shoulders with the beat, Peter began to dance toward her, “It’s a good song to dance.”

He held out his hand, and Jenna giggled, feeling suddenly very silly. But as soon as he had taken her hand the feeling went away, and she started to move her hips to the song, and her feet moved easily over the spare space they had.

Soon they were close to each other, Peter holding her hand, spinning her around, singing along.

 

They snickered like kids, and when Jenna held up their hands implying Peter should make a spin, it ended up in him crouching down and losing balance, because he tangled in her arm, and they both fell to the floor between the boxes. Giggling now even more.

 

“What a horrible dancer you are!” she laughed, one hand on his chest.

 

“Oy! Watch it Jenna-Louise! That wasn’t my fault,” he mimicked her cross look over the use of her full first name, placing one hand over hers, laughing.

 

“Okay, Peter Dougan, this is going to cost you now!” she lunged forward straddling him and started to push her fingertips into his sides to tickle him.

 

“Don’t!” he shrieked, trying to fight her off, but Jenna was quick and small. “I surrender! Please, I give up!”

 

Stopping she pushed her hands into her sides, glaring down at him, “You give up?” and he placed his hands on his chest, nodding quickly, all puppy like.

 

“I do.”

 

“Mh,” she did as if she was thinking, but then lunged forward again, calling, “I don’t believe you!” and kept on tickling him.

 

This time, he grabbed for her arms, naturally stronger, holding them together, pressed against his chest and it made her lean down, “That was not fair, Coleman.”

 

They both breathed heavily, beaming at each other filled with a little chuckle here and there while they became aware of their proximity.

 

His eyes wandered over her face, her red cheeks she got from their little fight. Her brown, round eyes, and for a reason, he was almost not able to breath normal again.

 

Her eyes did the same, and while he still held her arms, her hands lay by his throat able to touch his chin line.

"Nothing ever is,“ she breathed, her fingertips now touching his beard.

 

The last time they had been this close,[ a phone had rang somewhere,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2304233) but this time, there were just them breathing and no other sound.

 

And then Peter inhaled loudly, taking her hands away, slowly coming up with her, now sitting half in his lap, [ "I played that song for you. Back in the Tardis."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4118494)

 

The record made a clicking sound -- it had come to the end of side A.

 

"No," Jenna breathed, "you played China Girl."

 

Peter smiled, glad she remembered, his hands brushing against her thighs, "That's true. I played China Girl, and then when you left I played Heroes.”

 

“Did you?" her hands rested on his forearms, to keep her balance, gently clasping her fingers firmer around them. "As said, I had left."

 

"Yeah," by that time his lips were dry, and he licked them.

Indeed, she had left, and he had been left behind, in the Tardis. Not only on that occasion. 

He had started playing the song because it had been in his heart at that evening and from there one, it stayed there, not about to leave, never ever again.

 

Feeling a soft touch on his cheek, he brought his eyes back to her, that had travelled over the features of her face, down her shoulder, to the collar of her jumper, where he could see part of her left collarbone.

He smiled at the familiar touch — a gentle caressing, "Close your eyes."

 

She was surprised, "Why?”

 

His eyes darted down to her lips, "So you can … you can concentrate on it this time,” his voice trembled, unsure what made him express his intentions in this exact moment.

When she would ask him, he would have to admit, that he had thought about it all day long -- about her moment of madness. And of her, dismissing it as a blunder, made out of eager curiosity.

 

“Peter-”

 

"-Jenna.”

 

Two words. Two names. Their names. They inherited everything that others might say at this moment. For them, it was enough. The way the sound echoed between them, the way they looked at each other. Nothing more needed to be said. 

Again he licked his lips, breathing through his mouth. Calm on the outside, in turmoil on the inside. All those feelings. Always bigger on the inside. 

Jenna gave him a nervous smile, hesitant entangling her fingers with the collar of his jumper, closing her eyes.

 

His head tilted slightly to the side, while his hands slowly came up, settling on her cheeks, brushing away the hair that hung loosely into her face from the little playful struggle, and he was glad she kept her eyes closed because otherwise he would have lost all his confidence.

 

Wrong or right? Or long overdue? 

 

When his mouth touched hers, his own eyes fell shut, and he felt her body tense by the first contact of his lips. 

At first, it was the barest of touches -- a feeling out. Finding an acquaintance, in something so new, between two people who knew each other for so long. 

Her lips moved barley against his, probably too afraid and too unsure how this would turn out, and only when he brushed his lips a bit more against her lips, she responded with a soft hum, merely to hear.

It was what he needed. Her 'yes', her agreement, her consent, her confession that this was what she had thought off all day too.  

His hands pulled her in, making their lips crash against each other. Not hectically, not passionate, but intimate. Their mouths were barely moving against each other, and they stayed like this for long seconds. A sauntering.

Warm and tender. A rushing feeling in their bodies, a buzz, their surroundings forgotten. It felt like being in space, surrounded by the endless nothing, and a billion stars and beautiful silence. Sensory deprivation. Except touch.

And so they sank in, into the feeling of something important that was happening. Not only right now. It had been happening in the past, an ongoing motion between them. Back and forth, like tidal waves.

 

Before he let go of her again, he parted from her mouth only millimeters, only to lean in again, not ready to let go, and they both groaned at the touch. 

Jenna's fingers clawing at his jumper while Peter sucked at her lower lip — making sure this time she would remember. 

 

Her eyes were still closed, when his fluttered open, finding the skin around her mouth faintly red. A gentle irritation the thick hair of his beard had caused framed her parted mouth, inhaling needed air through them. 

He felt his inner being tremble and he almost dared to lean in once again to capture her lips with all the passion that was in him, but then he found her brown eyes looking at him, and he let go of the idea and her.

 

No, she wouldn’t forget this kiss and how could she? [Remembering the kiss-compilation on Youtube she once had teased him with](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2526239), she had felt this was none of it. The posture might have been the same, the way he had placed his hands on her cheek, the way he used to tilt his head. A funny kisser.

 

So what had been different?

 

It hadn’t been fake.

 

The way his fingers had caressed the skin of her ears, the gentle disconnection before he had pulled her in again, humming against her lips.

She knew how fake kisses worked, and that wasn't one. Not acted, but real. Foremost she had seen it in his eyes; wandering over her face, her lips, considering to brush everything else away and kiss her once again, the right way. Like lovers do.

 

Jenna maybe missed 30 years to him, but she was not stupid, and Peter was her best friend. She knew how he ticked inside, how to read in him. His eyes, the way he glanced at her as if his heart was about to explode. 

He could have dealt with it when he wouldn't have read the same in her. They weren't lovers, not physically, but they both knew to what point they were tumbling to.

 

“I think you said, you were hungry,” Peter cleared his throat, helping her out of his lap, and then grabbed her hand without hesitation, "Come on, let’s find something to eat.”

 

They shared a silent meal in a little store, near the Bay, enjoying the fresh air and the little walk they had. Not much was said, just shared glances, little smirks — they knew what had happened, felt that something was in motion. Unaware, that something was in delay. Not danger, though.

 

Afterwards, Peer waited patiently in front of the diner, shuffling around in his awkward way. Torn between going for a wander just around the corner to watch the channel, and to wait for Jenna, till she would come back from the ladies.

It ended with walking a few meters, deciding halfway it was better to wait, his arms flying around like he had no control of them.

When he turned on his heels, to toddle back to the entrance, he found Jenna stand there smiling at him.

It made him purse his lips, and scratch his cheek in embarrassment, pointing behind him, as if he was the Doctor about to tell there was "a thing" that had happened. Of course, it was just the channel and no alien ship.

 

Peter just smirked, realizing how stupid he must look, before he waved with one hand into the direction he had wanted to go, offering her the ladies first.

 

Peter was such a dork when no one was looking, Jenna thought. It always had been one of her favourite pastimes to watch him, while they had a break or when they were hanging out in private, and he believed no one was looking.

He did the most hilarious things while pulling the funniest faces as if he had an internal dialogue with himself — probably telling himself terrible puns. At least that it was how he looked.

When she saw him about to wander off — already through the glass front of the diner — she was able to read in his body language what would come. Like a toddler who wanted to sneak away, for five minutes only, before his conscious got the better of him.

 

Too often on set, she had only turned around for a moment, and when she had turned back, he had been gone.

 

“ _Where have you been?” she then asked._

 

“ _Here,” he used to answer, not even aware, that half the crew had been looking for him._

 

“ _And here is…?”_

 

“ _Here means… this solar system, this planet and even this country,” he had grinned at her all smug, but also with a look that asked her to forgive him. She never had been able to resist that look. Mostly rolling her eyes at him, she dragged him back to set after that._

 

They walked down the pier, passing Ianto’s Shrine, where they stopped, and Jenna asked him if he had ever signed the condolences book.

 

When she asked, he quickly glanced left and right, making sure no one was listening, “I… have.”

 

“Really? What did you write?”

 

He turned toward her, resting one arm on the railing, “What did _you_ write?”

 

“That the Doctor will come, and save him one day,” Jenna smiled down at the wall that was covered with letters and pictures, even lingerie. "That time can be rewritten. Not very imaginative. And you?”

 

“I am working on saving you, Ianto. Signed, the Doctor,” Peter drew a line with his hand in the air, as if he was presenting a big yellow neon text, and then broke into a chuckle.

 

They kept on walking, passing Landsea Gardens, till they reached the Graving Docks, from there they had a perfect look over to the Doctor Who Experience.

 

The wind was going, with a slight chill, but they both decided in silence to keep standing on the dock, side by side, looking at the water. Watching some seagulls floating around on the water.

 

"Will you miss it?" Jenna began, looking at the water intently. "Doctor Who."

 

The answer didn't come as fast, as she had guessed, "I had great years. It was the best job in the world, and if I take that as a basis of valuation, I shall miss it."

 

"But?"

 

"When you left," his eyes found the Tardis in front of the Experience, in the distance. "I thought, I would get used to it. And I did, in a professional way, but in the end, it was not running down corridors, playing with the sonic or watching Daleks explode that made me love doing this job. It was you. My friend, my dear Companion."

 

Jenna turned around, leaning against the railing, "I had to move on."

 

"Oh, of course," he leaned against her shoulder for a moment. "If you had declined "Victoria" for staying on the show, I would have made you leave myself! You know that. It's not your fault.

"When I met you the first time, I was scared how good we clicked. I signed and thought, well, this girl, she'll leave after one series, and then you get the next girl, and then I realized it wasn't that easy. I misjudged the possibility of us, becoming so close."

 

Jenna smirked, "If it helps, you weren't the only one making this mistake."

 

Peter was still looking at the water, his arms resting on the railing, hands folded together as if he was praying.

Jenna watched him from the side; the wind blew through his curls, and then, after a moment, he smirked at her remark. Smiled even, but one of the sad ones.

 

"No," he finally answered her question, "I won't miss it." He would fondly remember it, and that would be all.

 

His hand grabbed the railing, hard, till his knuckles went white, and Jenna saw how his body went back and forth a few times as if he wanted to rip the balustrade out of its mounting.

 

Then he let go, stepping away from it, his eyes directed at the sea. Something was going on inside of him. An internal dialogue. Jenna could see it, but didn't dare to ask what it was about. However, she had a hunch.

 

"Okay, let's go home," he turned to her, rubbing his face, the beard. "Time to shave this off.

 

Back at his apartment, Peter vanished into his bathroom the minute they had entered, only asking Jenna if she needed to use it before he would get to work. Twenty minutes later, he stepped out of it again; his face clean shaven. Slightly red from the procedure, and the scent of his aftershave hung heavy in the air.

 

Jenna knew she was staring; she didn't try to hide it, or to avoid it, "Oh, hello, and who are you?"

 

With an unintentional swagger he stepped into the living room, grinning, "I am - - me, just me. How do I look?" He walked up to her, showing off with his face a bit, "Did I miss something?"

 

In instinct she rose her hand, only to stop an inch away from his face, "Uhm, no. Not that I see anything left. Good job," she said quickly, turning around to one of the half full boxes, not able to see his disappointment, only feeling her own. "We should go on here. Packing."

 

"Yes, yes," he said, and passed her, going to the old bedroom.

 

Jenna cursed under her breath, making a fist. Angry with herself. She had wanted to talk to him, about what had happened earlier. And now, instead of clearing things up, she feared, that the next morning, when she had to leave, and their ways would separate, that there would be more questions as the night before.

 

Grabbing for a book, she shoved it keen into the box when music started to play from the other room. Her anger blown away by the beat and she began to smile.

 

The Dreamboys.

 

"Just one song!" Peter called from the other room.

 

In the end, he played the whole record for her.

 

They packed till everything was done. Every last book stored away, every last cup wrapped in paper, and every shelf disassembled.

 

Then they flopped down on the bed, ordering a huge pizza with prosciutto and rocket salad but extra cheese. They drank a glass of wine, giggled over some old stories from the set life and watched some Classic Who with Peter’s favourite Doctor. When it was ten, they both yawned.

 

The next morning, the movers would come, and then the only thing Peter had to do was sweep one last time with a broom through the rooms, and hand over the key.

He would hop into a cab, drive to the train station and get his train back to London, only to leave to Spain the upcoming Monday.

Jenna would leave after breakfast, returning to London, pack some stuff, only to catch a flight toward Croatia the same day, where she would start shooting a new movie.

 

“We should sleep,” Jenna suggested, rubbing her eyes. “Tomorrow will be a hard day — for both of us.”

 

Peter tilted his head slightly, watching her hands, that rested in her lap, over the blanket. It would be a rough day, indeed, but not because they had an exhausting journey in front of them.

 

“Yes,” he clapped the notebook shut and waited till she had shuffled under the blanket before he turned off the little lamp.

 

Resting his head on the fluffy pillow, he stared into the darkness, at the ceiling for a while. Aside he was tired, sleep didn’t come, and so he tried to listen to the room, hoping to find relaxation in it.

He tried to concentrate on Jenna’s breathing, who, as far as he could see from the corner of his eyes, laid in the same position as he did. Like resting in a coffin.

 _Great_ , he thought, and after a bit, he just huffed and turned to the side, his back toward her, hoping he would finally doze off.

 

Jenna heard her heartbeat, and it was not a slow rhythm, what told her that she wouldn't fall asleep soon. It was unnerving, but something nagged her. It wasn't hard to detect what it was, as the "problem" laid a few inches aside her.

 

 _Fuck_ , she thought, she should have never come up with the idea of them spending the weekend. Not like this.

 

After a few minutes, she heard Peter exhale, and turn away from her. It made her let out a long hold breath, before also turning, hoping she would find some rest sooner or later.

 

Somewhere a clock chimed midnight, and they both realized they were still awake. Or again. They couldn’t say. Maybe they had dozed off for a bit, only to wake up again, before slipping back into a now forgotten dream, and be awake again, when the clock chimed 12.

 

“Peter?” Jenna whispered, slightly shuffling around on her bedside. “Are you awake?”

 

“Mh,” he answered, turning onto his back again. “Can’t you sleep?”

 

“No.”

 

“Me neither,” he pondered on what to say, turning his head toward her. It wasn’t completely dark, a bit light from the outside shone through the blinds, and he could see Jenna’s silhouette against the background. “Want me to sing you a lullaby?”

 

Jenna smirked, knowing he was looking at her, but she kept looking upwards, "What was the stupidest thing you ever did in life?"

 

The rustling of the pillow told her; he hadn't expected such a profound question late at night. [ Questions, you only ask at midnight. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2886521)

 

"There are a few," he chuckled, after a moment. "Calling the Dreamboys the Dreamboys for example. Or believing Hollywood would roll out the red carpet for me after I won that Oscar thing," from the way he talked about it, she knew he considered less in his life as "something stupid".

People erred, Peter also, and he always had told her, that mistakes usually led to better things, what they indeed did. When she was about to ask him another question, he added, "Kissing you."

 

Without her willing, she turned her head, being stunned and shocked at the same time. Unable to swallow, she felt a slight pain when she urged herself to do so. Then she turned her head back to the other side staring into the darkness.

If it was his intention to hurt her, it had worked, but a Peter Capaldi never would hurt someone on purpose, so what was that for?

 

She heard him move, the blanket rustling, and felt his hand on her arm, "Ask me, what was the cleverest thing I ever did."

 

For a moment, she wanted to turn to him, and tell him to fuck off, and what that question is good for, but then he squeezed her arm once again like he would beg her to ask.

 

"Uhm," she whispered, spilling the words out quickly, in hope he wouldn't hear how hurt she felt, "What was the cleverest thing you ever did?"

 

"Calling the Dreamboys the Dreamboys," he began, and she was close to questioning their friendship because it all made no sense to her. "Believing Hollywood would roll out the red carpet for me. Marriage. Having kids. Doctor Who. -- Kissing you."

 

It hit her. Not the words itself, more the way he said it. He wasn't making a joke, he wasn't telling her a list, he was telling her what was circling his heart all the time.

 

Jenna thought of what to do. Words failed her. Explanations and Questions also, and when the silence and the darkness became too much, she stumbled to her feet, pushing the blanket aside and staggered in the half dark into the bedroom. She knew somewhere was a small lamp, and she fumbled in the dark for the switch, erratic, and when the light went on, she saw the record player still standing in the corner, unpacked.

 

She wasn’t sure what she was doing, and why, she only knew, that Peter was still in the other room, hadn’t followed her, and that she needed something to do against the silence that inherited the endless echo of his words.

 

_‘Kissing you.’_

 

Scanning the packed boxes she found a few with the scribbled note "records" on it and ripped it open again. Only in the second one, she found the David Bowie records, and because she couldn't remember which one had ‘Heroes' on it, she decided blindly for one.

 

It didn't matter; it only mattered that it was Bowie. For some stupid reason, it had to be Bowie and not the damn Beatles or the Dreamboys.

 

After Jenna had placed the black round onto the turntable, she pressed one of the few buttons, but nothing happened. She pressed it again, cursing. It didn't move.

 

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed at the electronic, now poignant becoming aware, that she couldn’t handle a record player because she had never possessed one nor her parents.

 

Why did this make her almost tear up? It was just a simple record player. Certainly there were a lot of people who also didn't know how such equipment worked. But she had seen Peter use it. He had put the record on and had pressed that button. Not another! And it had functioned, so what was she doing wrong?

 

"You have to-," he appeared out of nowhere, behind her, and took her hand in his. Together they opened the case again and carefully he made her shove the tone-arm back into the resting position. "Sometimes it's a bit blemish. The tone-arm doesn't always move back into the Stop position. See."

 

There was a clicking sound, and suddenly the turntable started to spin slowly. Jenna inhaled relieved. Peter let go of her again, giving her the space she needed, and watched her press the button again, and the music started to play. She regulated the sound down, aware it was the middle of the night.

 

Turning around to him, she had a million questions in her head, but none of them found a way out of her mouth.

 

Nothing of it had been planned. Not the crush on him, that was evident from the start to like everyone.

 

“ _Who or what makes you always smile?”_ Was the question in an interview for some campaign or an award show she had attended, she couldn’t remember anymore.

 

She hadn’t thought about what to say. The answer was popping up in her head like one of those lights, at airports, on runways. A steady flashing — the guidance to home, “Peter Capaldi.” Because it was the truth.

 

Nowhere close to sixteen anymore, she had been convinced she could handle this little crush. Aside she wasn't the only one. Everyone she knew had a crush on him, but it was her who was with him sixteen hours a day, for at least five days a week, and that left an impression in her.

 

They were head over heels for each other; they didn't even deny it. In San Diego, she had told 7000 people that she loved him, — as a colleague, as a friend, and so it was meant, and yet.

 

When they were alone, just him and her, and the smoke-guy in the Tardis, who was either blind or the most indifferent person in the world, for not reacting to the looks they shared, he sometimes touched her hand right before he ran outside.

 

She would later copy the gesture while they shot "Hell Bent".

 

Jenna shivered and returned to the other room, Peter following her, watching her how she settled back into the bed, "Would you kiss me again when I allow you?"

 

He gave her dominant way of phrasing a smirk, “I would.”

 

“Why would you do this? You are-”

 

"-I know," he not wanted to talk about it. It was his decision, he had his reasons, and he was well aware what the consequences were and could be. He had four years of thinking, of pondering, and four years of realisations. He stepped up to the mattress and settled down aside her, cross-legged, "I want this. You know why I want this."

 

When their eyes locked, he grinned at her. There was no need for being sad.

 

“You are an idiot!” she laughed helplessly.

 

"I know. I am Doctor idiot!" he agreed, holding out a hand.

 

It was not only him. It was also her. The thoughts, the worries, the dilemma.

 

She reached out to him. First his arms, then up to his biceps, and then she sat in his lap, her fingers brushing through his hair by his temple, "Doctor idiot."

 

With a smile, his hands came around her waist and back. She felt so warm and smelled so good, and when she leaned in to kiss him, the only thing he could do was kiss her passionately back.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Please note, this fic is a stand alone, but is actually incomplete and will be continued in one more part! [Sunday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6219814/chapters/14249971). The previous part is [Friday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6219767).
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for reading and I would love to read a comment or see a kudo.


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